


turn my pages

by prettylights_archivist



Category: Firefly RPF
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-12-25
Updated: 2010-12-25
Packaged: 2018-12-09 13:36:33
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,957
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11670183
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/prettylights_archivist/pseuds/prettylights_archivist
Summary: by jupiter.Adam treats Sean just like one of his books.





	turn my pages

**Author's Note:**

> Note from diana, the archivist: this story was originally archived at [Pretty Lights](http://fanlore.org/wiki/Pretty_lights), which closed for financial reasons. To preserve the archive, I began manually importing its works to the AO3 as an Open Doors-approved project in May 2017. I e-mailed all creators about the move and posted announcements, but may not have reached everyone. If you are (or know) this creator, please contact me using the e-mail address on [Pretty Lights collection profile](http://archiveofourown.org/collections/prettylights/profile).

It's not that Adam is careless. Well, okay, he really is, but he's not careless to the point of being mean or cruel. He just tends to forget things. Like where he puts his books. Sean will wander around his house, or maybe wait for him in the living room and stumble upon a book in the strangest of places; behind the spice rack, beneath the sofa cushion, or even under the sink, wedged between the Lemon-Scented Pledge and Comet. He may forget to do his laundry for the week, so Sean isn't really surprised when Adam shows up for their date wearing a Tigger sweatshirt from third grade (why on earth he kept it, Sean doesn't know) and paint-sprinkled acid-washed denim; the perfect '90s throwback outfit that has Sean in stitches upon viewing. 

Sometimes, Adam forgets the really important stuff. He doesn't mean to. He usually gets caught up in the latest chapter he's writing for his latest book (a novel that's been revised so many times, Sean can't keep up on the plot or characters anymore), and will ignore the telephone. It's a bad habit Adam has adopted; what if Sean's in trouble? What if the house is burning down? Well, as long as it's not happening right in front of him, Adam continues to plunk his fingers on the old-fashioned typewriter keys and forget about the world for awhile. 

That's probably what's happened tonight. Sean's been sitting in their favorite steakhouse with his best birthday suit on (okay, not the pale, skin-colored kind, but a nice three piece pinstripe he knows Adam loves on him). He's even gotten a haircut, and while he doesn't really consider himself a Grade A "hottie" (he's got Adam to fill the position), he looks damn good. And why he's still sitting alone is a mystery. 

"Did you want to order an appetizer? Or perhaps another refill of your rum and coke?" The waitress, a girl named Sunny with an equally bright disposition that is, frankly, growing on Sean's nerves by the second, appears at his elbow like she's made of fucking smoke. 

"I'll take another drink," Sean agrees, and holds out the empty. It'll be his third, but he doesn't care. It's quickly turning out to be that kind of evening, and he may as well get truly wasted before heading across town to Adam's apartment. He'd hate to have to kick his ass sober. 

Forty-five minutes and seven phone calls to Adam's apartment and cell have yielded nothing but frustration on Sean's part. He's racked up quite the liquor bill and needs the usually-happy-but-now-turned-incredibly-sour Sunny to call him a cab from the hostess stand. He drops a fifty on the table and staggers towards the door, not caring that some people have started to stare. Sunny glares at him, probably pissed at having to waste a table on a drunkard when she could have had a four-top ordering three courses and a bottle of wine. Sean doesn't care, though. He's got bigger problems, and hey, he left her a good tip! 

The cab ride across town is lonely. The cabbie knows to shut the hell up because Sean is in BROODING mode, and he's thankful he doesn't have one of those chatty drivers that likes to comment on anything and everything they pass. It's a quick twenty minutes to Adam's apartment, and by then, Sean's pretty much worked himself up. He's never been the hot-head type; he leaves that to Adam and his best friend, Summer. That, of course, doesn't mean that he can't get worked up. He can. Like tonight. He's worked up just fine because, damn it, it's his fucking party and he'll yell if he wants to. 

Sean lets himself into the brick townhouse and locks the door behind him. From the sound of quiet, instrumental music slowly filtering throughout the house, he knows exactly where Adam is. He climbs the stairs, silent except for the occasional squeak or groan of the wood. It's an old house, no matter how many coats of paint Adam decides to slather on it, and it's got its weak points. 

Adam's in his library, the door wide open with light from the fire pouring out into the hallway. He's got his iPod wired through the speakers on his stereo and a playlist Sean put together for him (some of his favorite songs from various film scores) is highlighted across the screen. Sean tries not to be flattered, but he is. Kind of. Then he remembers that he's pretty pissed off, and decides to go with that. 

He's been standing in the doorway for what seems like eons before he decides to give up the very dramatic entrance he'd planned and instead breaks the relative silence first. 

"Where were you?" It's a stupid question, and he knows the answer to it, but he can't help but ask because, hey, he's really hurting over here. 

"Sean!" Adam looks up from his typewriter (honestly, who even uses a typewriter anymore?) and presses the pause button on his iPod. "What are you doing here? I thought we were meeting at the restaurant." 

"Yeah, we were," Sean grunts, stepping into the room. He's surrounded by books, all volumes Adam loves. He normally likes to run his hands over the bright covers or somber titles, feeling the raised print of the author's name beneath his fingertips. He remembers shopping with Adam a couple of times, where he'd buy a book purely for the cover, or the picture of the author because he looks "pretty cunning, don't you think?". And when he thinks about it, Sean knows Adam is like that with everything. Spontaneous. Surprising. Doing something because it catches his attention. That's why he's dragged Sean along to flying lessons, fishing trips, bungee jumping seminars, pottery and cooking classes. It's that same instantaneous interest Sean usually loves about Adam. 

"What do you mean, 'were'? Dinner's at eight, and it's only..." Adam checks his watch, and Sean sees his face fall. Well, at least he has the grace to look ashamed. "Ten fifteen." Adam offers him a look made up of a million and one apologies before getting up from behind his desk, book and words for once forgotten. "I'm really sorry, Sean." 

And Sean knows he is because Adam doesn't have a malicious bone in his body. He didn't do it on purpose. He's just careless sometimes, forgetful. Passionate. So damn passionate about his work that Sean can't help but love him a little more every time he sees him typing away at those keys, pressing down so deliberately each time. So damn passionate that he gets so absorbed, the rest of the world falls away, and there's nothing but him and his words and his mind and what's going to happen next. 

Of course, sometimes, that passion Sean admires so much gets in the way. 

"I waited for you," Sean tells him as he makes his way into the room. "Had a bit too much to drink waiting for you, too." As if right on cue, a hiccup pops out of his mouth and he blushes. He's not used to being drunk. 

"I really am sorry," Adam apologies, scratching at the back of his neck. He's never been very good with emotion. "I just got caught up. You know." 

"Yeah, I know how it is." Sean sits on the couch, bounces off a little, and rights himself before looking up. "So, how are you going to make it up to me?" 

Okay, so maybe he's not that hurt. He knows Adam didn't mean it. He knows Adam would have been there if he hadn't sat down for a second to finish off whatever he needed to finish off, and ended up getting sucked in like he always does. But getting mad and pissed off and storming out has never been Sean's problem solving technique. Sure, he's angry as all get out, but he's not going to cry or throw something or make Adam feel like shit because, judging by his face, he already does. 

Adam smiles a little at that, and sits down next to Sean, lets his hand wander to play underneath Sean's shirt collar. 

"Do you still want to get some dinner?" 

"Nope," Sean shakes his head. "Not really what I had in mind." 

Adam smiles because he knows where this is going. Sean likes that particular smile; it means he's discovered the ending and likes the idea. Adam, being a writer, is always thinking about endings. How should he bring an end to the novel he's spent months crafting and writing. How should he put an end to that particular character. How he should end the universe he's created in his head and on the page. But this is a whole different kind of ending, and Sean knows it's going to be a happy one. Pun completely intended. 

"I like the way you think," Adam mutters as he leans in close and presses a dry kiss to Sean's mouth. Adam kisses like he writes; with passion and intensity and more than a little care. He touches like he reads, with intense excitement because there's nothing like a good story. 

Sean deepens the kiss, opening his lips to encourage Adam. He takes the hint and follows Sean's direction, chasing after Sean's tongue with his own. It's sweet and Sean knows Adam can taste the rum on his tongue just like Sean can taste the ideas on his. They've, of course, kissed before. Sean is familiar with Adam's mouth like he is with his own; he knows the curves and the teeth and the strong tongue. He knows Adam's hands as they brace across his chest, begin to unbutton his vest and shirt beneath. 

Sean hisses as he feels the rough, worn fingertips of Adam's hand glide over the skin of his chest. Adam's teeth graze his lip, a sharp point of contact as his fingers twist Sean's sensitive nipple. 

"You look really good in this suit," Adam tells him as he helps Sean out of the jacket, just like he does when he purchases a hardcover book. He can't stand the dust jacket getting in the way of his hands and the book, and it's the same concept here: he can't stand having all that cloth in between him and Sean's bare skin. 

"I look even better out of it," Sean teases, gripping a hand at Adam's shoulder, well muscled and proper, and rises from the couch with a little assistance from his favorite author. 

"Is that a come on?" 

"Oh hell yes," Sean emphatically confirms. Adam laughs and gets up with him, wrapping his arms around Sean's waist, a completely loving gesture. 

Sean can't deny the surprise that floods through him. Adam isn't the most loving guy out there; he's a sweetheart, sure, and he's gentle when called for. But he rarely speaks the three words Sean absolutely loves to hear and knows he means. He just wasn't raised that way. Sean, though, is used to spouting one's feelings at everyday intervals whereas Adam's a little harder to figure out. Like a mystery novel, there are clues. Cooking Sean's favorite breakfast. Buying Sean's soap to stock the bathroom with. Picking him up from work on rainy afternoons. Curling their fingers together when watching a movie. Adam doesn't come right out and shout his feelings from the rooftops. He leaves that to the guys in the movies. 

As Sean has discovered, there are many pages to the story of Adam Baldwin. And, as Adam leads him to the bedroom, Sean realizes he loves to turn every single one, waiting on bated breath to see what the next page will bring. 

FIN.


End file.
